The Hell in the Sun
by apocalypse penguin
Summary: Brennan, Booth, and Zack travel West to investigate the murders of dozens of teenage girls. They aren't quite sure what to expect, but certainly not archaic weapons, a city-wide evacuation, and a blond with attitude. Recommended for Joss Whedon fans
1. Chapter 1

Music blared and strobe lights flashed as many people shook -- or pretended to have something to shake – on the dance floor. Three people, sitting together and trying to converse over the din, didn't look like they belonged there at all. The youngest of them, and the only male, seemed to be very uncomfortable.

"I still do not understand why it is necessary for me to be here," he mumbled.

"Zack, what part of 'you need to get out more' don't you understand?" said the most at-ease of the group.

"We feel you should… connect with more people," explained the third person. "After all, you are no longer my assistant, but are fully qualified at your position. Soon, you could be accompanying Booth and me on our trips to other states. Then, you could be able to do that by yourself or with someone else."

"Yes, but why here?" griped Zack.

"Because you should learn to _function_ like a normal earthling."

Zack opened his mouth to object when a thin, gorgeous, and scantily clad woman approached him. "You are so cute!" she sighed.

"What kind of cute do you mean?" inquired a clueless Zack. "The kind of cute people use when discussing juvenile animals or the cute usually associated with hot? …Not the temperature or spicy hot, but one I assume relates to pheromone levels?"

"I… I'm not sure," she said, confused. Her composure then returned. "I guess a little of both. You know, a yummy kind of cute. Yeah, that's it. You look yummy_._"

Zack involuntarily leaned back, away from her. "Please use a different method to communicate your compliments."

"Huh?"

"I work at the Jeffersonian, solving murders from victims' remains. I've worked on several cases involving cannibalism. I have no way to tell if people will actually… eat me."

"O…kay?" said the woman, backing away. She turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"Zack, that is exactly what we're talking about," said Angela. "You really need to work on your people skills. You will need to talk to normal people, sometimes in places like this. You need to learn how to discourage people who are hitting on you without hurting their feelings and know how to avoid doing that when you're interested in them as well."

"I don't have any idea what you are saying," said Zack. Angela looked at her colleague, Temperance Brennan, for support but received only a raised eyebrow and amused look. "You two should get married," she said, resigned.

The next day, Brennan arrived at work to find her partner, Seeley Booth, waiting for her. "Bones! Hi. We've got a new case," he said, shoving a collection of files into her face. "Multiple women, 15-20 years old. They were killed in almost identical ways."

"Great. Why is this our problem?"

"Because they weren't all from just one state. On this map _here_, you can see they were in Arizona, California and Nebraska. Also, most of them were minors."

"How many are there?"

"Let's just say a lot. And they just keep coming in."

"So we're looking for a serial killer who doesn't look like he's going to stop anytime soon?"

"Apparently so. And there are too many bodies to ship here and do the whole examine-every-square-inch thing you do."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we have ourselves a field trip."

"But where would we be going? If the bodies are as spread out as you say, won't we have to be moving constantly?"

"Good point, but most of the victims were found in one area, and that's where we're going."

"Okay, fine. …Let's bring Zack!"

"No! Why?"

"Because he needs practice communicating with people and so maybe he could eventually go on these little outings by himself or with someone else."

"Oh, yeah, he _desperately _ needs that."

Brennan smiled triumphantly and started to walk away from Booth and to her normal working place. Booth rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and pursued her to continue the argument. "Wait! Doesn't he have experience with that from Guatemala and all the other places you've gone?"

Brennan did not even turn around to reply, "The only people Zack interacted with there were dead. This way, he will learn to participate fully in cases. Besides, if there are so many victims to examine, we'll need all the help we can get."

"Fine. You win. But, _back to the case_, an interesting thing popped up. The women murdered had just about nothing in common. They were from all over and didn't know each other or have any connections. We don't have a single suspect."

"Interesting. When are we leaving?"

"In two days. I already have our tickets. I guess I should get another one for Zack. I hope they've sold out. They probably haven't, though; we're not exactly headed to a popular place."

"That reminds me: _where the hell are we going_?"

"Nice little city called Sunnydale."

"No, really."


	2. Chapter 2

The flight to Sunnydale was not enjoyable, but somewhat amusing. There was barely anyone else on the plane, supporting Booth's statement that they were not headed to a popular place. Brennan and Booth sat next to each other, with Booth next to the window. Brennan had given it to him in hope of getting on his good side so she could eventually borrow his gun. They discussed the rumors of unusual occurrences in the city, such as a laryngitis outbreak and spontaneous singing followed by spontaneous combustion. The latter had occurred only once outside the town, in Central Park, in New York City. Meanwhile, Zack sat in the row in front of them and appeared to be traumatizing his neighbor, a teenage girl who seemed to be traveling alone. They overheard Zack saying the words "cabin pressurization," "pinhole," and "explode."

While driving to one of the many city morgues, they all noticed vast cemeteries and dozens of churches. "Cheerful town," Booth commented. They eventually arrived and showed their identification to look at the more decomposed bodies. The man who checked them noted that Brennan was "lucky to be with two cute guys." When Zack showed his credentials, he was very proud at being able to do so and expressed it by standing up straight and rigid, his arm inelegantly jerking to hand his ID over and to receive it. The man afterwards corrected himself, ending his observation with "one and a half cute guys."

They were then escorted into the room with the skeletal body of the first girl found. The room was centered around a few metal tables, two of them occupied. Autopsy instruments were next to one of the tables, on a wheeled cart along with plastic gloves and masks. The building had a chemical smell about it, almost as if it was trying to stifle the gloomy, demoralizing odor of death. Brennan, Zack and Booth were showed to the table closest to them, with an extremely decomposed body occupying it. Brennan immediately noted that the girl had tried to defend herself fiercely from fractures in the radius and ulna that indicated her arms had been used to shield her head. Phalanges were splintered, probably from trying to strike her attacker. A blade, perhaps curved, had been thrusted between her fifth and sixth ribs. Brennan noted the sacrum had not fused yet, so the skeleton in front of her was a girl who had been killed before she turned eighteen.

Booth noticed Brennan's hesitation and asked her if she was all right. She mentally shook herself and told Zack to investigate for other bone conditions that would tell them anything. The man who had let them in pointed out a dilapidated backpack on the table next to the body.

"That had a sweater, snack food, a bottle of water, and a crumpled up map of the area in it. Sounds like a normal hiker, right? Well, there was also a wooden picket or stake in there along with a dagger. Weird, eh? But everything around here is weird, so I'm not too surprised."

"Did either of those weapons have any traces of blood on them?" asked Zack.

"No, just what we thought was sweat, but we haven't had the

opportunity to do anything properly with the number of bodies we get."

"Where was the victim found?" Brennan inquired.

"Just beyond the city borders, in the woods."

Brennan nodded in acknowledgement and asked for the victim's x-rays. They were handed to her by the man. From looking from the bones to the translucent sheets, she made an interesting discovery.

"The 5th proximal phalange and metacarpal show signs of bruising," she observed. "You can also see the same thing on the radius, concentrated in one area and with decreasing damage down the bone at a constant rate."

"Do you know if we could get those little Star Trek translators?" Booth muttered. " 'Cause I'd find that _really_ helpful."

"I don't know what that means."

"Apparently, you'd also benefit from them."

Brennan gave her partner a reproachful look. "This person knew at least two martial arts."

"How'd you get that out of 'the bruising of the…' thingy?"

Brennan sighed impatiently and replied, "The damage to the bones is congruent to techniques from two entirely different martial arts. In one, the fingers are used to jab at the opponent and in the other is a block that doubles as a strike."

"Oh. Well, why didn't you just say that?"

"I'll send this to Hodgins so he can get particulates from the contents of the backpack," Brennan said, ignoring his comment.

"Right, then," muttered Booth.

Booth drove to a motel that was near the center of the city. On the way, he stopped at the Espresso Pump, a coffee shop where he was poured his drink by a surly, husky man. He then took a stroll around the area to try and get a feel for it; that was something he was good at. Booth got the general idea that the city had plenty of secrets. Once, he thought he had heard muffled screams from one of the alleyways, but when he burst in, he couldn't see a thing. He listened for the breathing of whoever might have made it, but there was nothing. He then decided the bleakness of the city's people had finally gotten to him and returned to his motel.

When he arrived at his room, he unceremoniously kicked his shoes off, turned on the television, and sat in the easy chair in front of it. The weather channel came on. A lady was saying, "This is Kathy Reichs, reporting live from Sunnydale Weather. We have Rain of Fire starting… Well, I guess it's starting right now!" The woman then turned to glare at something past the camera that was recording her and shouted, "Will everyone stop looking out the window?! I was _kidding!!_ You should _know_ 'Rain of Fire' is only happening in _L__.__.A_! …Anyway, back to you, Joss."


	3. Chapter 3

In Washington D.C., Dr. Jack Hodgins was examining and identifying "dirt," as his coworkers always called it. They didn't understand that it was an art, a balance of sediment and elements from the glorious periodic table. Its very composition could tell where it had come from. But _Angela_ seemed to understand. Maybe that was because she was an artist. That was one of the many reasons he was so in love with her; she never went, "Okay, now squint at some crud while I take you for granted." Not once.

He was awoken from this dreamy flow of thoughts by their focus, Angela herself. "Are you doing a mind meld with your work?" she asked with a smile.

"Might as well be," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "The paramecia, swimming around in the Petri dish, are better than a screen saver."

"What've you found?" Angela asked, sitting down next to him.

"Well, I started on the water in the girl's water bottle to see where she started out, or at least where she was the last time she refilled it. When we get one of those, we'll have the two coordinates that give us a line of where she came from and where she was headed."

"Cool. So what did you find out?"

"Some good news and some bad news. First, there were two water bottles. That's good, because it gives us a better idea of her headings. It's bad because though one has fluoride and chlorine levels in the water that can be analyzed to determine where it came from, I found Gamophyta in the other."

Camille, their boss, walked into the room. "What-a-who-a?" she said, characteristically keen on finding out everything that was going on.

Hodgins replied with, "I say tomato, you say tomata. I say Gamophyta, you say pond scum. The girl filled this bottle with pond water. I guess she either was desperate for water or didn't want to go into the nearby towns for some reason. Maybe she knew someone was after her."

"Well, if Doctor Brennan were here," Cam said, "she'd say, 'don't jump to conclusions. Work only with the evidence.'"

"Ah," said Hodgins. "So you're telling me to keep my mouth shut and focus all of my genius brain functions on the particulates?"

"No, by all means, keep doing what you doing. I appreciate conjecture if it's within reason."

"Gotcha."

With that, Camille left the room. After a minute or two of silence, Hodgins said, "You know, she kinda does have a point. I mean, it seems like it's been forever since we've had the almighty "I Don't Know What Any Cultural Reference Means" and "Genius/Mutant Zackaroni" to lecture us and be funny in their twisted little ways."

"Yeah, I know."

The two kept on gazing at the door which Cam had left through until Hodgins broke the stillness.

"So, Gamophyta."

"Oh, yeah."

"If I can match the levels of chlorine and fluoride to those of towns, we have our point A. If I analyze the levels and makeup of the pond water, we have our point B. And the site of the murder, that godforsaken little forest, is our point C."

Zack was to do whatever he wanted for about an hour and return to Brennan's rented car where she would be waiting for her to drive him home and then go to her own room in the motel. He was about a minute's walk away from the rendezvous point when he was approached by another gorgeous woman. Her features were so faultless and they stood out even in the darkness. She was perfect from her two-inch heels to her pale face… her face! Her otherwise angelic makeup was just a bit off around her eyes. It was as if she had put it on hurriedly and had placed mascara a little too far from the eye. But her smile made Zack overlook this and grin as well. She swayed her shoulders as if asking him to say something. He ineptly swayed on the spot and forced himself to look at her through a shop window instead, as if she was Medusa and he could only look at her indirectly.

When no reflection appeared next to Zack's in the glass, he whipped his head around to look at her more closely. After taking a deep, steadying breath, he exclaimed, "YOU'RE A PARADOX! AN ANOMALOUS PARADOX OF THE LAWS OF LIGHT AND ENERGY!!!" He then pulled out a camera, so swept up in the moment that he forgot the futility of this action. He realized that right after the camera clicked and flashed. Dismayed at his action, he looked at the tiny screen and was astounded to see an image of her. "YOU'RE A _DOUBLE_ PARADOX!!!! AMAZING!!!" he bellowed, and then he ran to Brennan's car, excited and overwhelmed. The double paradox was rooted to the spot, astounded and bewildered.

"What took you so long?" Brennan demanded as Zack leapt into the car.

"Double impossibility," Zack replied, trying to keep his voice casual, as he had heard that saying amazing things nonchalantly adds to one's alleged "cool factor." He failed to maintain this, for the statement was followed by an incomprehensible stream of equations and theories. Brennan just nodded inattentively and started driving.


	4. Chapter 4

Booth woke up the next morning to hear the phone ringing shrilly. He groggily answered it and heard the voice of the man who had shown them the first body. "Whazzup?" Booth groaned unprofessionally.

"We've identified the body."

"What took you guys so long?"

"Erm…" the man said, surprised at the disrespectful question. "The body had no identification on it anywhere."

"Okay. Great. Who is she?"

"Her name was Sarah Hagan. She lived in Anaheim. I emailed her address to you so you can visit her family when you're more… coherent." With that, he hung up.

Booth was enraged. A man whose name Booth didn't even know was telling him what to do and insulting him! But after a few minutes, the feeling subsided. He grudgingly admitted to himself that the man's suggestion was the best course of action, and made arrangements and the needed preparations to talk to them.

When he arrived at their door, a woman opened it and let him in. She had slightly graying hair, the kind you get from traumatic experiences rather than age. She was happy to see him -- the kind of happy that seems sad but when examined closely, shows hope of closure.

Her husband joined her and they sat down on a couch. Booth was invited to sit down and he respectfully did. Uncomfortable silence ensued until Mr. Hagan cleared his throat.

"So… you found Sarah?" he asked, voice quivering.

"Yes, Mr. Hagan."

"She's dead, isn't she?" Mrs. Hagan said, her tired eyes staring intensely at Booth.

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm afraid so."

She took a shuddering breath and her eyes watered. Her husband held her for a moment.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Booth sympathized. "Is there anything you can tell me that could give us a better idea of how she was doing shortly before her death? That would include people she was close to, any enemies…"

"Well," said Mr. Hagan, "She was doing just fine. Her grades had dropped a little, but she was feeling better about herself. Gym was a tough time for her, but lately, that had been improving. But there was this man… old, unusual, kind of stuffy… and I think he was British. Sarah had been meeting with him for a while, so he could tutor her."

"And then," added Mrs. Hagan, pulling herself together, "there was that time she came home from school late, bruised and bleeding. I asked what had happened, what was wrong, but she just gave me this scared look and said she would fix it. She stopped meeting with her tutor after that."

"Around then," Mr. Hagan continued shakily, "Her grades dropped, and she got several detentions, a couple for yelling at her teachers. It wasn't long before she... ran away. We came home and saw a few things missing and a note with a -- a smiley face on it."

"Thanks," said Booth softly. "I think that'll be all for now."

After continuing to examine the skeletons, Brennan met up with her partner so they could visit another identified victim's family and he could bounce his ideas off her.

"You know, I think that British guy sounds kind of suspicious, don't you?" Booth said after reiterating the conversation he had had with the Hagan family. "Maybe even fishy enough to be a serial killer?"

"Yes, I think so. The events of concern do center on him. Is there any way we could find out more about him?"

"Well, I don't think we'll get anything else out of the Hagans. And we can't exactly go through files of everyone living in the neighborhood, looking for some _stooffay, Brleeteesh_guy."

"If you're trying to emulate a British accent, that sounds more like Italian."

"Thanks, Bones."

"Anyway, I think you're right-- we can't exactly go by the normal approach. But if the Hagans could tell he was British, he must have lived there long enough to develop an accent, or at least been raised by an English family. Either way, his interests would probably show his heritage. Look for someone who is into soccer, rugby, cricket… You could check attendance lists or things like that."

"You are a genius. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

Brennan opened her mouth to answer and realized Booth's question was a rhetorical compliment. "Thank you," she said serenely.

Booth parked the car next to the house the secondly identified victim, Isabel Wheeler, had lived in. He and Brennan got out and walked up the sidewalk to the house. Booth rang the doorbell and waited. He heard hurried footsteps from inside the house. The door swung outward very quickly. Booth and Brennan made eye contact, each noting that if they had been a few inches closer to the door, they would have both been knocked backwards.

"Er- sorry," someone from inside the house mumbled, turning Booth's and Brennan's heads to him. "I guess I'm still a little jumpy lately."

"It's okay," Booth said, glancing back at Brennan. The man stepped back and ushered them inside.

"Nice… house," Brennan said, looking around at pizza crusts and trash scattered all over the room.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," the man said. "It's just that after my wife died, Isabel was the only reason for me to keep my act together. And even before I got your call, I… stopped caring." Booth noticed that he did not look like he had shaved for a few days, and his thinning hair was a mess.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Brennan said in her best sympathetic voice. "Mr. Wheeler, is there anything you could tell us about her that could help us out?"

"Sure. If it helps. …You see, I try to be the best Dad _and_ Mom I can be… I was never too hard on my Izzy, and even when she cut class that time, I didn't blame her. I've been taking a few too many days off from work, too. She hasn't been doing too great in school. She later told me she wanted to get some help, like a private teacher, and encouraged that; I didn't want misfortune to completely ruin her life. But even after several meetings, her grades didn't improve. She even was caught fighting a couple times! Then, one day, she had this alarmed look on her face and she told me she loved me. I shrugged and went out for groceries." Mr. Wheeler paused, holding back tears. "When I came back, she wasn't there. I called her name and waited, and waited, and waited. She never came. I thought the worst, but always hoped she was okay." Mr. Wheeler finished, and several moments of silence ensued.

"Mr. Wheeler," Booth said. "Did you ever meet this tutor?"

"Erm… no, I never did," replied the man. "But according to Isabel, he was a nice guy. Always professional, but frequently let out a good laugh, and he always sounded smart… and the accent, if anything, helped…"

Booth sat up suddenly when he heard those words. "What-- …what accent would this be?" he asked, trying to hide his anxiousness.

"Hmm… I should remember this… You know, Izzy imitated him a good number of times…" Booth longed to scream and swear at the man, but managed a sympathetic smile. "Oh, yes. It's English."

Booth and Brennan sharply turned to face each other. Maintaining his gaze with his partner, Booth said, "That'll be all, Mr. Wheeler."


	5. Chapter 5

"So, how's weird British guy fit in as a serial killer after troubled girls?" Booth asked Brennan on the way back to their motel.

"I think it's logical. All of the victims we've examined were stabbed in the same way, implying the same murderer. Also, the British man in the families' stories could be doing who knows what to the girls. I just wish we had more to go on."

"Well, actually, we have witnesses--"

"We have people who witnessed the crimes? _And you didn't tell me?!"_ Brennan raged.

"Um, no, I meant people who recognized a picture of the victims and had seen them before they were killed. I'm having Angela map them out and see if they were trying to get to a single point. I mean, they came to this city from all over, right?"

"Wow. I'm impressed."

"See? I'm not a Neville Longbottom all the time."

"Ooh! I actually know what that means! It's from _Harry Potter_!"

"Way to go, Bones!"

"So, do you fall off of… flying brooms a lot?" Brennan asked, smiling.

"Um, no, more of the cluelessness and screwing up factor."

"Oh, well, sorry. That was the only part I know of. You see, I was in a movie store when it was playing."

"Okay, _that_ is the kind of thing you can keep to yourself. I was actually thinking of _not_ praying for you this week."

Brennan made a face at the car mirror.

Angela just finished making a projection of the map of victims' known paths. She used Hodgins's data to map the paths until the people entered the city, and witness accounts for inside it. It did seem they were trying to get to one common location. She also used a new software program to have the more frequently used routes highlighted, as well as most direct paths from each victim to every other one. Both times, the web of trails intersected a single house.

Angela smiled at her work. She then took out her cell phone and called Booth back. When he picked up, she proudly said, "1630 Revello Drive. That's where all of those poor girls were trying to get to."

"Really?" Booth asked, impressed. "Great job." He then mumbled to someone other than her, probably Brennan. "You hear that? Finally, something that can give us a clue!" Then, back to Angela, "Thanks."

Angela waited a bit before hanging up, waiting for a "goodbye" or something. What was up with these macho FBI guys? Was it impossible for them to say any form of farewell? She sighed, and then put herself in her happy, charismatic mode. Well, at least she had given her friends something to work with. In the end, they would all come through.

"Yes, a tutor of some sort. British, too."

Booth and Brennan were questioning the mother and father of Rachel Bilson, yet another identified victim, and again, some English tutor just happened to come into the story right before the girl's life fell apart. "Mr. and Mrs. Bilson, Dr. Brennan and I suspect that this _tutor_, as you call him, may be responsible for your daughter's more recent stress."

"Oh, you mean her," Mrs. Bilson corrected him.

"What?" Brennan asked.

"As I call _her._ The tutor was a woman," Mr. Bilson replied.

"Oh," Brennan said.

"''Kay," Booth finished. "Thank you for your time, I'll let you know if we need more answers." He and his partner quickly left the Bilsons' house.

"Problem. Big time," Booth said as they drove away.

"_Oh_, yeah." Eventually, Brennan added, "Hey, you might not want to take your frustration out on the accelerator."

"Ugh," Booth groaned. He slowed down.

"Um, Booth?" Brennan asked him after a while. "Why are we going home this way?"

"I want to take a look at the house before it gets too dark. You know, see if anything's going on, if I get a good or bad vibe from it."

Brennan nodded. That seemed reasonable. She kept an eye out for the house with the right address. Despite the long shadows caused by the now hidden sun, they found the house they were looking for. It was white with a gray roof and had a luscious green lawn with two tall trees and several bushes. Brennan unbuckled her seatbelt, but Booth shook his head and pointed to a figure in a black cloak, sneaking toward the house. They both saw something gleam in the person's hand. A weapon! The form began examining the windows and doors of the house, while looking around to make sure no one was watching. Booth recognized that this little man was trying to find the best way to attack the inhabitants of the house. He and Brennan made eye contact and leapt out of the car. Booth held the figure at gunpoint as Brennan jerked its fingers so its blade clattered on the sidewalk.. The "manthing," as Booth would later call him, much to Brennan's amusement, managed to writhe free and sprinted away into the darkness.

Booth rolled his head back, gazed at the sky, and mumbled, "That's great. Just great."

Brennan snapped on latex gloves and inserted the knife into a Ziploc bag. "Yes, Booth," she said, examining the curved blade. "We just found a potential murder weapon."


	6. Chapter 6

"Uh oh." Zack was examining and comparing victims in one of the many Sunnydale morgues. He found something that could completely throw their case. It wasn't the fact that the knife fit exactly into almost every wound in almost every victim. It wasn't even the fact that although the angles of the blows suggested a somewhat short attacker, the depth of the cuts suggested a huge, strong assailant. It was simply some bruising on several victims' arms and legs. This was direct evidence of the girls being held down while another killed them. This meant there were multiple attackers, and therefore multiple murderers working together.

He called his coworkers to let them know. Booth grumbled. Brennan contemplated this new information. Cam was happy that they at least knew this. Angela sympathized and told Zack that they would catch this "freakazoid cult." This was followed by, "Jack, stop doing your conspiracy dance!" And then, while laughing, "You know, you can be so stupid for someone so smart!" After that, Zack was able to hear giggling and loud kissing. He hung up, eyes narrowed. He shook himself and went back to work.

At that moment, his phone rang. It was Brennan. "Zack, Booth and I are going to 1630 Revello Drive. We're hoping to find out if the people who live there know why a whole bunch of girls have died trying to make their way to that house."

Booth knocked on the door and waited. Nothing happened. He knocked again. He and Brennan looked at each other and his partner nodded. As Booth stepped back to kick the door down, it was opened by a brunette teenage girl. She looked very surprised to see him and then glanced behind her and dodged a beautiful, young, blonde woman who sprinted through the doorway and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Ang- you're not on fi-" she released him, glanced at his bare fingers, asked, "How-" and hugged him again.

"It's okay, miss," Booth choked.

The woman narrowed her eyebrows, liberated him for a second time, saw Brennan and asked disgustedly, "Who's she?"

"I'm his partner," Brennan responded.

"Yeah, I was getting to that," Booth murmured. Then, raising his voice, he announced, "FBI, I'm Special Agent Booth, and this is my partner, Dr. Brennan."

"Oh, sorry," the woman said, absolutely mortified. "You look like my… ex-boyfriend. …You… aren't my ex, right?"

"Um, no."

"Most of his exes are lawyers," Brennan said pointedly.

"Ah," the woman said. "Well, my guy, last time I saw him, said he was ready to go all genocidal on lawyers."

"O-_kay_, so can we come in and ask a few questions?" Booth asked.

The woman took a breath to invite them in, but stopped herself. She then slyly stepped out of the way and motioned for them to come in. When they did, she sighed, relieved. Booth wondered why she was acting so strangely and glanced at his partner, but she gave him the same questioning look. The both of them then noted they heard a lot of clamor and even thought they heard the sound of a shower from up the stairs.

Booth heard someone approach and turned to see who it was when a fist connected with his face and he found himself sprawled on the floor, dazed. He looked up to see a man with short, spiked, platinum hair who was snarling, "What's up, old pal? Had to come back and med-"

The blonde woman calmly but irritatedly held him back and waited for him to stop struggling. Booth observed that she must be very strong and bold to do such a thing. When that happened, she spoke in a dangerously calm voice and explained that "a very nice FBI agent and his coworker who had never met them before were there to ask some questions." The man haughtily straightened his leather jacket and, glaring at Booth, stalked away. The woman called after him, "We'll talk about it later."

Unsure of what would be said at that discussion, Booth asked, "Can I be there when-"

"No!" said the woman and man in unison.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the woman apologized. "Sorry about Spike. He just... knew that person who looks _juuuust_ like you and has a grudge against him. So, what do you want to ask?"

"Ma'am-- …sorry, could you tell me your name, please?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm Buffy Summers."

Booth started snickering and Brennan elbowed him very hard in the ribs.

"All right, Miss Summers-- …It is _Miss_, right? Well, we've found evidence that many girls, mostly adolescents, have been trying to make their way --"

Booth paused because he caught a glimpse of multiple teenage girls gathered around what appeared to be the house's kitchen table.

"Um… Exactly how many girls are here right now?" he asked.

Just then a person who Booth could not decide if he could be considered a boy or a man leapt down the nearby staircase and shouted hysterically, "Is it true that police are in this house asking questions about mysterious stuff?!"

"Um, we're FBI," said Booth.

"FBI?!?! I'm wetting myself and gotta go!! Someone hide the big board!!"

Buffy sighed and spoke over a new sound of running water, answering a few of Booth's questions before he even asked them. "You'll have to forgive Andrew… or not, your choice. And, no, he isn't high on drugs, nor has he had anything with caffeine in the last twelve hours. I don't think you'd like to see what he's like when he's even sipped a coffee. He's just… a nerdy, enthusiastic…" She too had trouble deciding what to call Andrew. "…person."

"Ah," said Booth. "Now, what was I saying?"

"Um… how you adore the craftsmanship of the house?" Buffy said nervously.

"Oh, yeah! How many girls are staying at the house?"

"Um… just a few," Buffy replied, obviously uneasy. "They… mostly come and go. I mean, we have a little… club… where we-"

The loud sound of flushing interrupted her and was abruptly followed by an even louder scream that came from up the stairs. The muffled sound of running water stopped.

"Just a few, then?" Brennan said, a smile playing around her lips.


	7. Chapter 7

The "important" people had gathered in the living room: Buffy, Spike, a redheaded woman, a brunette woman, dark-haired man, and a dark-haired woman who had begged to stay and managed to do so. They were then introduced and Booth could not resist blurting out, "Buffy's a name? Willow's a name? Xander's a name? Kennedy's a name? Spike's a name?"

Buffy gave him an unwavering glare and coolly inquired, "What are your first names?"

"Um…" Booth said, deciding to change the subject. "It's okay. We know about everything. We're here to help."

Brennan and Booth had decided ahead of time to pretend that they were in on whatever the people were keeping secret. If anything mentioned was suspicious or was something they had never heard of, they were to play along. This might get them more trust, and therefore, more information.

As soon as Booth's words left his mouth, the room became hushed and tense. "Your family…?" one of the women asked cautiously.

Brennan took the liberty of answering the question honestly. "They disappeared when I was 15. I later found out that my mother was…"

"Oh, God!" exclaimed the redheaded woman, Willow, sympathetically.

Brennan continued. "Recently, I just found my dad walking around, doing… horrible things."

"That must be terrible. Just remember, that wasn't really your dad."

"Really? 'Cause that would explain a lot."

"All right, now that we've all bonded and connected," Booth interrupted callously, "we have a few more questions to ask. Are you aware that several girls have been killed trying to make their way to this house?"

"Um… yeah," said Buffy, visibly beginning to doubt the sincerity of Brennan and Booth. "We've been trying to get to them before they're killed. We then bring them here and teach them how to defend themselves."

"But then that would make this area a target for… them," said Booth, concealed hope of understanding who was behind the murders rising in his chest. "I mean, we just found a man who tried to enter your house with a large knife. Do you know _anyone_ who might want to hurt you?"

Booth's report was met with, to his and Brennan's surprise, suppressed giggles and smiles. Brennan raised her eyebrows and Booth narrowed them.

"Let's see," Buffy said, restraining her laughter. "This is gonna be tough. Okay. Do you want me to name individuals or groups?"

"What do you mean, 'groups?'" Brennan inquired.

"What I mean is… some people really hate the idea of women standing up for themselves." Buffy's face was now unreadable. Booth scolded himself silently for blowing their cover.

"Um, okay," he said. "We have to remain open to the possibility that one of you has something to do with this. In those cases, it's usually related to a messy breakup or an affair. What's the status of your relationships?"

Buffy plainly answered the awkward question with, "Well, just about everyone in this room has slept with someone else in here. But now, no relationships that are beyond friendship exist."

"We're just friends?" asked Anya to the person next to her, Xander.

"Well, except for us," interjected Willow. Then, gesturing to the dark haired woman next to her, Kennedy, she mumbled, "We, you know… gay together."

Brennan took this as an opportunity to be insensitive.  
"You know, homosexuality is irrational. Scientifically speaking, sex is a means to an end; the end being the propagation of the human race. This end can never be fulfilled by intercourse between males or between females. The general conclusion is that homosexuality is illogi-"

"Bones," said Booth in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Brennan sighed and said, "I apologize. I have nothing against gay--"

"It's okay," Willow hurriedly. "Really."

"Uh, Bones," Booth said softly. "Why don't you go outside and look around the house for anything that …pops out at you?" Then, hoping his partner could send Spike to the hospital (after being provoked, of course), he said, "Hey, Spikey, why don't you show Dr. Brennan the yard?"

"Umm… Err…" Spike stuttered.

"You see, Spike has an allergy to sunlight or something," Buffy quickly said.

"Xeroderma pigmentosum or protoporphyria?" Brennan asked, tilting her head.

"Uh, yeah," was Spike's response.

Xander volunteered to show them around the house, cheerfully announcing "That's where Buffy got shot," and other morbid events. Brennan tuned him out and focused her attention on her surroundings. She eventually heard the sound of crackling beneath her feet and looked down to see broken glass. She looked up and saw, as she had predicted, a window.

She knelt and examined the ground. Sure enough, there were numerous glass shards in the grass. Xander, who had been monologuing and walking around, finally realized that Brennan wasn't paying any attention to him. Seeing that _she_ had _his_ attention, Brennan asked him if he was aware of the broken glass on the lawn. He answered, "Yeah. I mean, when someone throws a rock through our window, I'm the one who has to fix it."

"Interesting," Brennan commented. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a call to make."


	8. Chapter 8

Booth sat uncomfortably in the Summers' living room. He was actually beginning to feel old, surrounded by so many young people. All of the girls were whispering excitedly. He had invited the rest of the house's residents into the room. As many entered, they asked, "Is that Angel?" and other things. Finally, he hollered, "Why does everyone keep calling me that? Everybody thinks I'm Blondie's ex-boyfriend. What does he even look like?" He even muttered to himself, "Well, I bet I'm_ way_ hotter than him." Also, he was embarrassed at a misunderstanding that involved a girl whispering, "He doesn't look very exy. _I'd_ keep him.." Enraged, Booth had mumbled, "I _so_ am sexy!" He had had to grit his teeth the rest of the time he was there to keep himself from blurting anything else out.

For an hour, he tried to get information out of them, but they wouldn't give him anything. They would look at the apparent leader, Buffy, for guidance, but she obviously did not feel like sharing. Finally, he got up from himself, said goodbye, and departed. Booth left the Summers' home with more information than before, but found himself slightly disconcerted. The atmosphere in it was serious, like they knew a grave secret, that something would happen. Part of him tried to be sympathetic, but mostly, the whole situation frustrated him. Why couldn't people in need of help ask for it? All they needed to do was tell them what their problem was and then accept assistance. He then heard Buffy talk from inside for the first time in a long while. As the sun set, stealing its light away from the world, Booth listened carefully. He heard some words that made some sense, and others that did not. "He looks just like Angel, his voice sounds just like Angel's, but you can tell it's not him from his attitude. He's actually a bit of a jerk . So unless he's evil, got himself an FBI license, and hooked up with a woman who is _so_ not hot, he's just some poor guy who's gonna get caught up in a war."

Suddenly, Booth was knocked onto the ground by an immense force. He looked up to see a disfigured man. Booth expertly pulled out his gun and held it at the man. He charged at Booth anyway. Booth fired at him and the bullets hit him square in the chest. This for some reason did not stop him. The man snarled and stumbled, cursing, "SON OF A SLAYER!"

He then was thrown backward about twenty feet and Buffy appeared where he had just been. "You called?" she asked the man in a provocative tone. His eyes widened and he hurried away. Buffy then turned to Booth and helped him up. Before he could say anything, she sternly told him, "Don't ask. Don't get involved. You'd just get hurt. Or worse."

"Excuse me?" Booth said. "Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a warning."

"Really? Now, what's the difference?"

"The side I'm on."

With that, she stalked back into the house and left Booth in the yard, with his mouth opening and closing.

In Washington D.C., Angela was examining the data about the shattered glass, taken by the forensics team that Brennan had summoned, while Hodgins was testing the glass samples given to them. Hodgins could barely make any sense out of the results. After tediously analyzing each sample, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Well?" Angela asked him finally.

"I don't know. There are two types of glass that I've found so far. They're definitely different brands; the glass was heated differently, and they were exposed to different chemicals. It's like the window was broken, replaced, and broken again." His eyes grew wild and he smiled as he realized what he had said. "I'm a genius!"

Angela broke into a smile and started replacing some data in the lab's 3-dimensional graphics and computer simulation system. Her end of the data interpretation had not been going so well because of this missing information. She and Hodgins found out where each type of glass had been and Angela dialed her best friend's number on her phone to inform them of their breakthrough.

Angela heard the typical "Brennan" of her associate answering her phone and said, "Hey, what's up?"

"I'm going home with Booth right now. He's telling me a very interesting story."

"Hey," said a voice, obviously Booth's. "You know, about that freaky-looking guy--"

"So, guess what? Hodgey and I realized there were two different types of glass, and the window probably broke at least twice. Right now, we're waiting for the _Angellator_ to realize we told it everything it needs to know to give us something. The dispersal pattern of the glass should tell us if the window broke from the inside or outside and how much force was used to shatter it."

"I hate physics."

"Well, that's why I'm doing this part. And… here we go!"

The computer system showed the glass shards on the ground, then reassembled them as they floated up into the window. Sample A of the glass fell out again, flying quickly and far. They came back together, a section now highlighted. It was what made the window break.. It was a human silhouette.

"Wow," said Angela.

"Wow,' said Hodgins.

"What?" asked Booth. "What is it?"

"Either they film old western movies and bar fight scenes in there," Angela said, "Or there's something they're not telling us."

"You think?" Booth interjected.

The computer then did the same for the other glass samples. "Okay, now something went flying _into_ the house."

"How can you tell?"

"I just saw the whole recreation thing. Plus, there are only a few shards that came from that and they were found right under the window. But I can't tell what shattered it because most of the glass would have ended up inside and gotten cleaned up. All I can tell is it must have been big."

"Three guesses as to what shattered _this_ window."

"The guy who showed me around the house mentioned rocks being thrown at the house…"

"Sweetie? This was no rock."


	9. Chapter 9

Brennan and Zack were in one of the Sunnydale morgues, examining the autopsy results of the most recent victims. They both saw that several were killed in far more ruthless ways than any previous victim. There were few, if any, defensive wounds, though they were more serious. One was killed by what seemed like a bear, and the other was killed horribly, with amazing damage to the bones, though they could not find any evidence of a weapon being used. They were forced to conclude that someone had killed the girl with his bare hands. This was most likely the handiwork of the leader of the killers, rather than a copycat or another henchman; the killer was obviously more aggressive as well as intimidating. However, not everything added up. The angles of the blows suggested a somewhat short attacker; the depth of the cuts suggested a huge, strong assailant. Zack reminded his coworker that the other victims indicated the same things.

Brennan finally concluded, "This leader, whoever he is, is trying to make a statement. He's probably using steroids to make him seem more intimidating or like a monster." At that point, her cell phone rang and she answered.

"Brennan."

"Hi. It's Booth. Listen, I did a criminal check on that woman, Ms. Summers and came up with a bit of 'wow.' It says here she was a homicide suspect at age _17,_ and here-- 'extremely dangerous, imperative to avoid confrontation…'and some officers reported they arrested someone of her description for stealing several weapons."

"I think that counts as 'wow.'"

"I know! Hey—speaking of wow—WOW! I'm totally swamped in traffic. I'm trying to get to you, near the middle of the city, and everyone else is leaving. This is crazy!"

"I think that counts as a—WHOA! The electricity just went out!"

"I wonder why."

"This isn't funny, Booth! The lights aren't working, x-rays can't be taken, refrigerators are going to let the food rot, there won't be any hot water--"

"No hot water? There goes my daily therapy!" Despite this joke, Booth was now dead serious.

Brennan was now being called by Angela. She asked Booth to hold and he did.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie. Guess what?"

Brennan remained silent. As fond as she was of Angela, this way of giving information was incredibly inefficient. Angela got the message and told her best friend what she had found out. "We ran more of the identified victims through my program that shows their route, and I had to expand the map to the entire country! A lot of these girls came from so far away, they had to go in airplanes! I even found two who came from a different _country!_ Whatever they were doing, it seems nuts."

"Wow," breathed Brennan. "Thanks, Angela."

Angela beamed. "No problem . Bye."

"Bye."

"I think we should get out of here."

"What?"

Brennan was in the now candle-lit morgue, trying to convince Booth and Zack that they needed to move to a nearby city and continue their work.

"It's completely logical. Almost as many people who died in Sunnydale passed through Torrance and were killed there. With the power out, we can't do anything here."

Silence itself seemed to be staring at her and she gladly interrupted it. "Booth, what do you know about this mysterious evacuation?"

"Well, um, all I've heard is the people feel a sense of foreboding and feel the need to get the hell out of here. Only a few people are staying, like one houseful or two."

"Well, I'm not sure I want to stick around and find out."

"Wait a sec," Zack interjected. "You're telling us not to find out what, besides a 'gut feeling,' is causing a mass exodus?"

To everyone's surprise, Brennan replied, "Because I'm getting that feeling too! …Look, I just think we should do our work in Torrance and then stop back here before we go home."

That sounded reasonable and Booth and Zack agreed.

"Booth, see if you can go to a store and stock us up for anything we need for a road trip. Zack, can you help me pack what we need from here? Now, only one question remains: How many cars should we bring?"

"Two," Zack suggested. "That way, we can bring even more equipment."

"I think we should go in one," said Booth. "We save gas and then use that saved money to treat ourselves in Torrance. Also, you guys can talk each other's ears off while I tune you both out! Besides, there's no reason to worry-- the town will be here when we get back."


	10. Chapter 10

Booth wandered the aisles of an abandoned supermarket, scavenging various food and drink he could find.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered under his breath. He was quite unaccustomed to stealing, but the food was just lying around for the taking. Besides, it would go bad if he did not "rescue" it.

In the end, he brought two six-packs of soda, a large bag of nacho Doritos, three apples, and several yogurts to the rental car. After that, he helped Brennan and Zack load it with assorted equipment. "Easy on the gear," Booth joked. "There needs to be enough of room for us."

When they started the interminable drive, it was evident that Booth could not avoid the irritating chatter of his coworkers. He had hoped they would not demand any responses from him, but to his annoyance, they constantly told him, "Slow down!" and "Driving under stress is hazardous. Try breathing deeply, like this: _hhhhhhmmmmmm, hhhhaaaaaaaa_." At the last quip, Booth threw the empty nachos bag toward the back seat. That earned him a few moments of peace and quiet.

They drove alongside other cars the whole trip, and only one car, with blacked-out windows, passed them as it went in the direction of Sunnydale.

After finally arriving to Torrance, the introduction process began. Not long after that, Brennan and Zack were back to work. To their dismay, they

found that the Torrance investigators used many of the same excuses as the Sunnydale ones used to justify ineptitude. This indicated a lot more work would be in store for Brennan and Zack. Booth shuffled around awkwardly as they worked. He hated feeling useless. Finally, when Brennan brought up the subject of suspects and declared there were none, Booth snapped.

"What about the English people?!" He asked forcefully.

Brennan defended her claim with, "Well, there was no definite--"

"Maybe they weren't murderers, but they _were _in on it!"

"How about we take this outside?"

"Don't mind of I do!"

As soon as they left the room, Booth continued the flow of his strong opinions. "I don't want to hear another autopsy report! I don't care if a parent's loss resulted in bad housekeeping!" By now, he was nearly shouting. Then, in a whisper, "I … I just don't want another girl to die. Ever since we got here, I've been feeling helpless." Brennan extended her hand and squeezed his gently. He slowly looked up and met her concerned gaze. He then shook his head and smiled.

"Look at me. I'm really stressed about this case. I sometimes wish I could just escape and leave it to someone else, but that just wouldn't be right. God, I sound just like Sully. What was his nickname? Peacock?"

"Pea_nut._"

"Whatever." Booth chuckled. Brennan looked somewhat horrified. "You know what you need to do?" Booth said. "Turn that frown upside down."

"Unless you suggest I rip off my lips, turn them over 180 degrees and put them back on my mouth, I don't--"

"You know what? Forget it. We'll catch this guy."

Brennan's face gave the impression that she was eating a strange, bitter food and was trying to figure out what it was. "I have no idea what took place during this conversation. At the beginning, I thought we would argue, then I thought I'd reassure you, and then --"

"Yup," said Booth happily. A few moments ensued.

"Soooo, you want to get back to work?" Brennan asked.

"Sure!"

They reentered the lab and Zack informed of the latest news. "Many of the victims were in the possession of archaic weapons. Daggers, axes, crossbows, and stakes have been recovered."

"Why were they using medieval weapons to fight?" Booth inquired. "Why didn't they use guns?"

"Maybe their opponents were wearing bulletproof jackets," Brennan suggested. "You know, then guns couldn't do much."

"If that's the case, I just shoot the head."

"Well, maybe they were rebelling against modern society. That could mean no guns."

"Yeah, that's the smartest thing to do when you're being _killed by the dozen__!__!"_

"Booth!"

"I'm telling you, it's right in front of us!" He paced for a moment, then looked up again, a new look of optimism on his face. "What about misogynists? That Summers woman said something about people hating the idea of strong, capable girls. I think we should go back! That town is the key to everything!"

Zack rocked side to side on his feet before saying, "I-- I think we've gotten all we're going to get out of this city. We might as well return."

Brennan sighed uneasily. "Fine. Let's go back. I hope you're right, Booth. I hope you're right."


	11. Chapter 11

An atmosphere of determination seemed to fill the car in which Brennan, Zack, and Booth were. That is, it filled the tiny cracks and spaces between the people and the equipment they brought with them.

Zack was the first to notice that something was wrong. When they were very near Sunnydale, he detected a cloud of dust or smoke above where they knew the city was. He alerted the others and they stared out the windows.

"Something's up," Brennan said dumbly. "And I want to find out what. Booth, drive faster."

"I never thought I'd ever hear you say that!"

"Just drive."

After several long minutes, a pocket in the landscape was visible. As they got closer, it started to resemble the Grand Canyon although in shape, it seemed like a crater. Booth drove the car to the edge of it. Taken aback, they stared out in awe at the landform that had been a city just a few days ago.

Booth spotted a yellow speck on the horizon. "Is that a… school bus?"


	12. Theoretical Epilogue

_Brennan:_

I've got a theory

That it's structur-al

It's flawed design

But that is improba-ble

_Zack:_

I've got a theory

That it's tectonics

'Cause California's known

To be pretty unsta-ble

_Cam:_

I've got a theory

We're going the wrong route

It's getting eerie

Why can't we all figure this out?

_Booth:_

You guys are clueless

You lack people skills

In fact you're so immersed

With dead people that you might be Necrophiliac

I didn't mean that

Apologies everywhere

_Hodgins:_

I've got a theory

It's aliens

_Everyone:_

…

_Angela:_

I've got a-

_Hodgins:_

Aliens aren't sci-fi

Like everybody believes

They have their evidence

And inevitabilities

But what's with the Mars stories

It could never, ever support life

Aliens!

Aliens!

It must be aliens!

…Or a conspiracy?


	13. Actual Epilogue

Brennan and Booth were sitting at a table in the Jeffersonian, complaining about how disappointed they were about the lack of closure in Sunnydale.

"You know," Booth said, "Reports of the murders have stopped coming in. I hope whoever did it got blown up."

"Actually," Brennan corrected, "there were no traces of explosives in the wreckage. The whole town appears to have... collapsed."

"Close enough."

Angela walked in with a sketchbook. "A lot of people all claim to have seen someone very suspicious and gave me very colorful descriptions of him… though many called him "it." She showed them an illustration of a very strange creature with pale skin, protruding veins, long, sharp teeth, catlike eyes, and a bald head. It was clothed in… leather?

Angela cheerfully explained, "I tried putting a smile on him, but he ended up looking like a creepy stalker."

Booth grinned. "It looks like Elvis combined with Godzilla."

Brennan raised an eyebrow, indicating she could not make sense of this statement.

"Oh!" Booth said. "That reminds me. When we were in Torrance, I

took the liberty of getting you this." He handed her a book.

"'Popular Culture for Idiots?'"

Booth's smile disappeared. "Ignore the title. Bad title." Brennan laughed. Booth gasped dramatically. "Oh, dear _god!_ WHAT HAVE I DONE? I have accomplished the impossible!"

"Hey, speaking of impossible," Brennan interrupted, "How about we have some Thai food and actually _split_ the cost? …Not that I mind you demanding that we rock-paper-scissors-shoot to avoid paying."

"Yeah, why is it that you always win?"

"Logic. Every time I beat you, you feel vulnerable and your subsequent selection is 'the next one up' and I do whatever beats that."

"That's not logic. That's psychology. You hate psychology!"

"_Whatever_. C'mon, let's eat!"


End file.
